


you just want backstreets, you don't want me

by gaygiggling



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I wrote this because I was sad, M/M, it hurt to write, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygiggling/pseuds/gaygiggling
Summary: Dream remembers everything. He wishes he didn't.Maybe that way, he could forget the day George walked out the door.--inspired by 'helium' by glass animals
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146





	you just want backstreets, you don't want me

**Author's Note:**

> hi! it's agora again, your favourite waterlily bitch. i wrote this actually based on one of my relationships. i also listened to helium excessively for days on end before gaining the courage to write this. it isn't my favourite; it's messy, it's raw emotion, but it's genuine. a piece of my heart chipped off and given to you, the reader.
> 
> i hope you like it. enjoy :3

Dream remembers the first time he brought George home. 

In between breathless kisses, his eyes glittered in wonder, glazed over in a fog of pleasure. “You have a nice house,” he whispered. Dream smiled, closing the space between their mouths again. 

“I didn’t bring you here to comment on my house.” His lips dragged over George’s, kissing up his nose, the space between his eyebrows. George’s fingertips tightened around Dream’s bicep, keening with fervour at the gentle kisses.

“Then what did you bring me here for?”

With a quick manoeuvre, Dream hoisted him into his lap, big hands warm and rucking up George’s soft cotton shirt. He let out a small hum as he shifted on Dream’s thighs, arms coming to rest around his shoulders. Dream pressed his cheek against the nook where his shoulder met his neck. “You know.”

He giggled almost cruelly. “No, I don’t.” George could feel his shoulders relax as Dream’s hands explored the planes and angles of his back, shame hidden under his shirt. “Tell me.”

Dream reeled back slowly to meet the other man’s eyes. “You’re insufferable.” 

“I’m human.”

“You’re mine.”

George’s breath hitched in his throat, a small whine regretfully seeing the light of day. Dream smiled, the hearth under his ribcage breathing soft, embers glowing gold, kindled by the milky expanse of his best friend’s skin, the unmarred column of his neck, his lips reddened. George pushed forward, reconnecting their lips with the ferocity of the sun, laying dormant for eternity just to come alive in this moment. 

* * *

Dream remembers the first time he knew.

They lay together on the couch, minds hazed over with a post-dinner fog. George nestled his head against Dream’s lap, cradling a book in his hands. Some trashy Netflix show played on the TV, but neither of them watched. Dream curled his fingers through George’s hair, soft, gentle, watching as the other man read.

“Read to me,” Dream whispered, barely loud enough for George to hear. He couldn’t see his face, but he knew he was smiling. 

His voice was tentative. “ _I can no longer listen in silence._ ” He began, and Dream’s heart bloomed, a gentle butterfly rising from its earthy confines and let loose in his ribcage. “ _You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope._ ” 

Dream watched as his lips moved fluently, forming words of Austen on his tongue, dripping like gold. He smoothed a hand over his hair, eyes trailing over his freckles. “ _I offer myself to you with a heart even more your own than when you broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death._ ” 

He knew the next line. Of course he did, reading the same book from cover to cover, wearing out the pages and a broken spine. “ _I have loved none but you,_ ” they said together, Dream’s voice raspier and half an octave lower. George looked up, placing his thumb between the pages of the book. 

“You know this book?”

“Of course.”

George smiled, and Dream was a goner.

* * *

Dream remembers the first time he brought George on a date.

“I know I said I wanted to go outside, but I didn’t mean _this_ outside.” George heaved a breath between airy giggles. Dream laughed too, his hand out stretched for George to take. He took it, gripping his hand as he pulled himself up yet another rock.

“What is there to do in Yosemite if not hiking, honey?” The pet name was soaked in teasing, but Dream hoped George didn’t catch the genuineness in his voice, the mirth that came straight from the hearth below his ribs. They looked out, huddled together in the gentle autumn breeze, into the backdrop of mountains, the pine trees that lined the sides of the hiking path.

“It’s beautiful,” George breathed, admiration lining his voice. Dream looked down at him, watching his eyes flitter across the scenic view, enamoured by the simple complexity of Mother Nature. _You’re beautiful_ , he wanted to say.

“My parents used to bring us here when we were kids,” Dream said. Their hands dangled together, static buzzing between their fingers, itching to have and to hold. “Almost every year. It never got old.”

“Yeah,” George agreed. Dream smiled at the way his reply seemed so far away, still so captivated by the mountains. “I could come here every day and never get tired.”

“You’d get tired from hiking.”

George swatted his arm, huffing out a small laugh. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Dream stayed silent, letting him take in as much of the view as he wanted. When George was ready, they strayed back onto the walking path. George’s hand slipped into Dream’s, wrapping his cold fingers between Dream’s own. He gave him a gentle squeeze, and Dream squeezed back.

They didn’t say it, but they knew it.

The sun began to set just as they reached the peak of their trail. Blue turned to orange as the day started to doze off, pulling streaks of azure down with it. In its place, a warm orange glow took the centre spot.

Golden glow spilled onto the tops of the mountains, backlit by bright yellow. George watched in awesome wonder, letting go of Dream’s hand and wandering slowly to the precipice of the cliff. Dream stayed back, watching as he stared up at the sky, heart swelling with some kind of warmth and pride at the beauty of his beloved.

“I love you,” he whispered to nobody. The confession sailed with the whistling wind, shaking the trees with a gentle breeze, never heard by George, but shouted to the rest of the world.

* * *

Dream remembers the first time he woke up next to George. 

George had his own bedroom in Dream’s house, upstairs, second door to the left. It was big- it fit everything he needed to bring with him and more, but it sat painfully empty, bed untouched and pristine. 

Down the hallway, George slumbered peacefully next to Dream, cheek pressed to his chest and arm thrown around his torso. Dream was the first one awake, watching as the sun rose behind George, bathing them in glorious golden of a new day. His arm, tucked softly under George’s soft hair, shifted to trace small circles on his upper back, watching as the smaller man slept in earnest.

It was mornings like these where Dream wished he had the courage to admire, the shamelessness to love. When the sun rose in the quiet morning, and all that really mattered was him and George. The world would melt away, galaxies burn down, leaving him and the man next to him to traverse together, one soul in two bodies.

George woke up a few minutes later, eyes blinking blearily up at Dream. “Hey,” he whispered, lifting his head to crane his neck up. “Good morning.”

Dream smiled dopily back. “Good morning, honey.”

“Have you been awake for long?”

Their bare skin brushed together, a reminder of their last night. “Long enough.”

George breathed, stretching his legs out against Dream’s, before rolling onto his tummy to face Dream. “I’m sorry. Your bed is so comfortable, I never want to wake up.” He propped his head up with his fists, elbows planted in the soft mattress. “I don’t want to leave.”

Dream melted. “Then don’t,” he pleaded softly. “Stay.”

“Stay tonight?”

“Stay forever.” 

George laughed first, swatting Dream’s bicep non-committedly. “You’re such an idiot.” 

_I mean it_ , Dream didn’t say. 

* * *

Dream remembers the first time he confessed. 

He’d been distracted the whole day, trying to edit some new video. He’d hear George’s voice and his heart would stammer. He’d see George’s face and yearn to be by his side. He wanted to want him, in a way that the heart burns, a roaring fire licking the night sky.

Dream yanked his headphones off his head, setting them down quickly on the table. His heart beat nervously in his chest; he and George had been living together for about 5 months now, spent most nights coddled up to each other, and even more lips connected, burning skin to burning skin. But today, he needed an answer. His fingertips went painfully numb as his feet carried him cautiously to George’s room, hovering at the doorway.

His heart bloomed at the sight of George sitting in his chair, legs pulled up to his chest, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. The sunlight backlit his features, afternoon rays crossing the threshold lazily.

“George?”

George looked up, and smiled. Dream could see the way his eyes twinkled as the sun hit just the right angle, melting into a pool of amber. “Hey,” He said. “Is something wrong?”

Dream took a tentative seat on George’s bed, blood coursing nervously through his veins. His stare was poignant, his words curt. “What are we?”

Seconds of silence passed between them. George blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, mister,” he half joked, but there was an undertone of truth, of incessance, of pleading. “What are we?”  
  
George hesitated. “What do you want us to be?”

His resolve began to collapse, debris crumbling from the top of his walls. “George,” he pleaded. “You know what I want.”

His shoulders tensed. Every time he seemed to get somewhere closer to George, he’d move away. He skirted around the talk of “boyfriends” and “dating”, segueing straight into another conversation about what to have for dinner. Dream couldn’t count on both his hands how many times George had begged for Dream’s touch, Dream’s kiss, Dream’s _everything_ , and then refuse to explain why. 

“Do you want me George? Do you want me like I want you?” He wanted so badly, to look away, to hide his face from his confession, his shamelessness, his desire. The crack through his resolve ran just a little deeper, and through it, he peered carefully at George’s expression.

“Clay,” he breathed. Dream choked on his breath, hearing George’s soft melody utter his real name. He closed his eyes. _No one’s ever said my name like that before. Like they loved it. Like they loved me._

He repeated himself. “Do you want me?”

George broke. “More than anything.” 

His eyes shot open. George continued. “I was always just so afraid of this. Of you. You’re so- so out there, Dream, people see you, people _know_ you. And I’m just here,” his voice turned to a whisper. “and I never know if you’re really mine.”

Dream breathed for the first time in his life. “Nobody knows me the way you do.” 

They lay in bed together after, rolled onto their sides to face one another. They talked until night pulled the sky down, replacing the golden and pink hues with blanketing navy. They huddled together under the covers, clothes still painfully on. George’s hand came up to cradle Dream’s cheek, his hand warm in the still cold of the night.

“Maybe I want this too much,” He whispered. “I want you so much.”

Dream’s arm shifted to pull him closer. “We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t sure.”

He stroked his thumb over Dream’s lips. His voice, though soft, was steady. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

“Then let’s do it,” Dream was breathless, pulse quickening with every word, heart stoppered in his throat. “You’ve made your home in my heart, now live in it.”

George smiled, eyes watery. “Okay.” He breathed. “I’m yours, Dream.”

* * *

Dream remembers the first time they fight.

They were standing in the living room, the couch separating them. George’s hair was tussled from how much he’d pulled on it. Confusion fuelled Dream’s frustration, his hand trembling at his side. He clenched his fist, nails digging into the supple skin, the pain a reminder to _calm down, calm down, ground yourself._

“What has gotten into you today?” Dream’s voice was shaky in an attempt to sound normal. “Why are you so mad?”

“What’s gotten into _me_?” George laughed hollowly. “I’m sorry, Dream, were my needs as your _boyfriend_ too much to ask? I said that I didn’t want our relationship getting out before I told my family, and what do you do? You go and say that on your stream.”

“It was a fucking joke, George. We used to make jokes like that all the time before we starting dating, no?” He took a cautious step towards George. “Nobody suspects it any more than they already have!”

“But that’s not the point!” His voice cracked under the weight of his anger. “You said, you said we could keep it to ourselves. You said it didn’t matter that no one else knows. You know I’m not ready for them to know.”

Dream couldn’t stop the next words out of his mouth. “You’re overreacting.” 

George stood, stunned. “That’s just it, isn’t it? Me, overreacting because I’m angry you broke my trust.” His voice turned to venom. “Shamelessness isn’t my forte, Dream. It’s yours. You push forward every time, you initiate every time, and all I do is hang on to you and pray I survive the ride.” 

He didn’t reply. George continued.

“It’s what I was afraid of.” His voice wavered, ever so slightly. “You, you’re so open about who you are, what you’re doing. What’s it like, to let so many people know you?” He stepped towards Dream, renowned ferocity snaking under his skin. “You don’t understand what it’s like, to not even be honest to your family. There is no one, Clay, no one in this world who I’m willing to tell everything to. Which is why I chose you, because you made me feel safe. Safe next to you, safe in my own skin.

“Which is why I ask you, Dream. I’m yours, but are you really mine?”

* * *

Dream remembers the first time he told George he loved him.

“I’m hungry,” George had complained midway through a recording. They sat in separate rooms in a Discord voice channel, four hours into filming some stupid mod Dream had coded. He honestly just wanted to get it done and over with so he could have his boyfriend back in his arms and under the covers, going straight to sleep. “Make me some food.”

Dream’s chuckle reverberated in the call. “What kind of food do you want?”

George hummed, as if in thought. “Well, I would love some pasta right now, but I think our pantry only stocks instant noodles.”

“I’m sure I could make you some pasta.”

George gasped. “No way,” Dream could hear the smile in his voice. “You could?”

“Come to the kitchen.” 

They met a minute later, George shuffling down the stairs in Dream’s hoodie (that was miles too big for him), sleeves reaching over his wrists with his fingers poking out. Dream had already gotten his pot out, along with some dried pasta and oil. “Is aglio olio acceptable, darling?”

He felt two slim arms coming around from behind in a soft hug. “Of course,” George replied, resting his cheek upon Dream’s back. He shadowed Dream, waddling with his arms still tied around Dream’s waist.

The taller man laughed. “George, honey, you have to let go if you want your pasta.” 

George didn’t listen. Rather, he snuggled closer to his boyfriend, peppering light kisses on his back through his thin cotton t-shirt. 

Dream’s hands shifted to lift George’s hold on him, turning around so he faced him. His hand came up to tilt George’s chin upwards, making him look right at the other man. “George, are you listening to me?” 

He mewled softly, reaching up to capture Dream’s lips in a kiss. It was chaste, light and teasing, less one of passion and more one of, dare he say it, love. Dream’s lips were soft, just a little cold from the chilly air, but nonetheless perfect.

Dream broke away first. “I don’t want to overcook your noodles,” he explained, before turning back to the stove. George stood back, back pressed against the counter as he waited patiently for his boyfriend to finish. 

He scrolled mindlessly through his phone, opening Spotify and plucking one of the songs from his playlist. A gentle tune filled the air, pocketing the gaps of silence the two left behind. He swayed softly, watching Dream cook. He could smell it before he saw it, and his tummy rumbled offensively loud.

Dream hummed along to the tune as he cooked the pasta in oil and garlic, adding _only a pinch_ of pepper flakes, citing George’s spice intolerance. “Come eat,” he announced as he plated it, sliding George a bowl full of pasta. 

They ate in easy silence, the music from George’s speaker and the sound of slurping noodles the only conversation at 3am. “I love this song,” Dream piped up happily, setting down his bowl. “George, baby, come dance with me.”

George laughed, shaking his head. He watched as Dream swayed from the kitchen island over to him, grabbing his bowl and placing it on the counter before capturing his thin wrists. “Put it here,” he said, placing one hand on Dream’s shoulder, “and this one here.” and laced the fingers of their free hands together. 

“Are you making me waltz right now?” George chuckled, only to be hushed softly. 

“Just dance with me,” Dream whispered, “Dance to the music.”

And so they did, George’s cheek pressed against Dream’s soft chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. Dream led him and his fumbling feet, and they collided every so often, George stepping on Dream’s toes. 

Raw emotion bloomed within the vast hollowness of Dream’s chest, a single flower in a wilted meadow. He closed his eyes. 

“George, I love you.”

They didn’t stop dancing, but he could feel George’s movements tense. He continued.

“I know you have a hard time opening yourself up. You don’t have to say it back, not now, not ever, but just know that I love you,” he breathed, steadying his voice. “and I always will.”

The music faded into the background, the world melting away. George said nothing, but looked in fond admiration at Dream. Even without saying it, Dream knew he was loved back.

* * *

Dream remembers the time he bought a ring. 

Sapnap was with him, ecstatic at having been asked to go engagement ring shopping with Dream. He talked for hours in a locked Discord call with Dream, about how he’d “called it from the start and now Karl owes me $50”. Dream only laughed, and told him to meet him the next day.

“Do you even know what you’re going to get?” Sapnap asked, trailing behind him. “Do you know his ring size? Do you get a matching one?” 

“Sapnap, just shut up,” Dream laughed. “Yes, I have an idea. Yes, I know. No, I don’t get a matching one. It’s an engagement ring. We get matching wedding bands.”

Truth be told, he was nervous. He fronted a more confident façade in front of George’s parents when he asked for George’s hand, in front of his sister when he asked for advice, but in front of Sapnap, he felt like he could be honest. 

“Do you think he’ll say no?” He had asked, wringing out his hands in front of him. “I don’t even know when’s a good time to ask. When do I know it’s the right time?”

Sapnap placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Dream. You’re an amazing guy.” He’d rolled his eyes at Sapnap’s cheesiness, but let him continue. “George is lucky to have you, and you’re lucky to have him. Don’t worry, okay?”

Now, the two of them entered a little shop, one that Clay had found after much research. He knew he didn’t want to get just any ordinary ring for George, and took to scouring the internet for special rings he knew George would like. 

And this one caught his eye. A deep blue, emerald-cut sapphire stone, flanked by diamond clusters on either side. He’d already talked to the store attendant on the phone about it, and had gotten it made to fit George’s finger exactly. It hadn’t been easy to find a way to measure his finger, but once he did, the situation felt real. He was going to propose.

“Dream, it’s beautiful,” Sapnap stared at the ring. “Holy fuck, dude, I wish you were marrying me.”

His nervousness gave way to a smile, and with Sapnap’s affirmation, bought the ring.

* * *

Dream remembers the first time they slept apart. 

He’d gotten home late after a night out with his old friends. He had sent a text to George saying he’d be out till late, so don’t wait up for him, and came home a little tipsy and more than a little loud. 

“Hey baby,” he greeted George, who’d been sitting by the lamp in the living room finishing yet another depressing classic. Dream never understood why he liked those so much.

George looked up and smiled softly. “Hey. Glad you’re home safe.”

Dream dipped ungracefully, planting a loud kiss on George’s forehead before heading towards the bathroom. “Are you coming to bed?” He asked over his shoulder.

George’s voice was small. “I think I want to sleep in my room tonight.”

He stopped. “What?” he asked. He must have misheard.

“I think I want to sleep in my own room tonight,” George repeated, his voice just slightly louder. “I just… I need some space.”

Dream turned around. “From what?”

George hesitated. “I don’t know, Dream. I just need some time to think for myself, okay?”

Chills broke out against Dream’s skin, his palms starting to become clammy with anxiety. “Okay.” He managed. “How about we talk more about it tomorrow?”

George nodded silently, before getting up and retreating to his bedroom. “Goodnight, Dream,” he called out, before shutting the door.

His thoughts clouded over with doubt, hesitation, and the question; _Did I do something wrong?_ He stared in disbelief at George’s closed door, before picking up his feet and dragging himself to his bedroom.

They’d been sleeping in the same bed for nearly a year now, George taking up space on the left side, hogging the duvet and leaving Dream to wake up to cold feet every morning. He never minded. Every morning he got to wake up next to George was enough for him to give up the world, to let himself burn to bring warmth to him.

Dream took a shuddering breath, holding himself up against the wall of his bedroom. It pained him to rack through the fields of his memory, trying to come up with a reason for George’s absence. Chilling sparks of blue nervousness scuttled across his skin, climbing down his verterbrae. 

He lay in his bed, unfamiliarly cold. The bed seemed far too big now that it only held him. He turned to his side where he’d usually see George, peacefully asleep, the steady rise and fall of his breath, only greeted hy miles of empty canvas. 

He went to sleep. When he awoke, his bed was still empty.

* * *

Dream remembers the time brought George home to meet his parents.

His sister knew about the ring. The whole time, she eyed Dream carefully, a knowing look in her eye, almost screaming in his face, _when? When are you going to do it?_

Dream wished he had an answer.

They made easy conversation over dinner. Dream’s childhood home seemed so much smaller now than when he had lived in it; product of growing up and apart from his family, he guessed. 

He watched George and his parents as they laughed over aged wine, talking about childhood stories about Dream. They asked how they met, and George launched into the same story he’d told a thousand times.

He told it every time with the same vigour, the same excitement. It always felt like the first time; he never got bored of telling the story, never hesitated to share every detail.

Dream watched in glowering admiration as his boyfriend smiled and laughed, his eyes turning to crescents. He didn’t think the meeting would go badly, but he never expected them to have such a connection.

His hand found George’s under the table, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly once. George’s speech didn’t falter as he squeezed back. 

The velvet box in his pocket bore a hold in his thigh. He was itching to take it out, to ask the question right there and then. His heart fluttered at the tinkling laughter from both his parents and George, and tuned into the conversation for just a second.

“You know George,” his mother began, mirth wrapping around her words. “When Clay first told us about you, I don’t think either of us would have expected us to say this so fast but,” she paused to blink back a tear. “We really see you as part of our family.”

Dream’s heart melted. George’s hand stiffened.

She continued. “We’ve never seen Clay the way he is with you. He seems so much more,” she looked at him, for the first time really looked at him. “Free.”

Her eyes seemed to pry into his soul, past his tear ducts, past the past lives he’d long since buried, digging out a part of him that he reserved for only him to see. A tear fell down their faces.

George cleared his throat, letting go of Dream’s hand abruptly. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up slowly. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Dream watched as he walked away, his hand empty and cold. Worry struck his heart with lightning, a sharp ache never fading. Something was wrong.

* * *

“I can’t be a part of your family.”

Dream looks up from his phone. They came back from their trip to Florida a couple of days ago, but their luggage is still strewn all over the floor, with George telling him he’ll “unpack later, I’m tired now.”

He tries to ignore the anxiety that bloomed in his heart, crushed static buzzing in his chest. “What?”

“I can’t be a part of your family,” George repeats. His eyes flutters shut as he swallows thickly. “The whole conversation. Your sister’s subtle looks. I know, Dream. And I’m telling you, I can’t be a part of your family.”

His heart sinks, dread carving out the pit of his stomach. He tries to breathe, but his throat tightens menacingly, suffocating him in his worst nightmare. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because I don’t want this to go on for any longer.” Dream can tell that it hurts George to say this. His voice is strained, cracking and wavering. He pauses, taking a trembling breath. “I don’t want this to hurt any more than it already does.”

It cuts him, deep inside, to admit he’d seen this coming. The nights waiting by the door without a text, the stiffness that shrouded his shoulders when Dream touched him. His voice is small, breaking. “When did you know?”

“When you told me you loved me.”

Dream’s biggest flaw is that he loved too much. His heart is pure, big enough to envelope all of his friends and family and still have space for more. He loves too bright and too recklessly, he’d been told by his past lovers, but none had ever seen the love that he held for George. 

_George._ His George, his lover, his soulmate, standing at the doorway of what was once _their_ room, face flushed and eyes red and puffy as he cries. It’s like he refused to cross that threshold, refused to come in, refused to succumb to the graveyard of memories made in that room.

“I loved you back, Dream.” His voice wavers. “I still do. But you and I,” he breathes, shakily, like he was trying to will his tears back into his ducts. “We’re too different. You, you love like it’s fire, you love like it burns you. You’re passionate, you’re fierce, you’re everything I wish I could be.”

Dream dreads his next words.

“But I just can’t keep up with you.”

Dream dies inside.

George’s words blur together. “I’m not like you. I’m not out there, I’m not risky. Every day with you I feel like I have to hang on to you-“

“And pray you survive the ride.” Dream whispers. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

George says nothing.

“I’m sorry, George.” He echoes. “I’m sorry I didn’t slow down for you.”

“It’s okay,” the other boy whispers. “It’s okay.”

Seconds of still silence pass them by.

“When I first met you,” George starts. “I was so enchanted. Enamoured, by you.” His voice is gentle, a floating melody that crosses into the room he dares not step foot in. “You were everything I wanted. I wanted to be with you, to walk with you, to be the one you woke up next to.

“I fell in love with how alive you made me feel. I’ve never met anyone like you, Dream. I’ve never felt like I wanted- no, like I _needed_ somebody, until I met you.” He laughs airily, tears choked back in his throat. “You were stupid, you were bold. You didn’t mind things messy because your mind is so cluttered with thoughts, with love for everyone around you.”

Dream speaks with a voice surprisingly even. “Then why are you doing this?”

“I just-“ he runs a hand over his face, grasping for some kind of composure. “I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t have my own space because you’d come barrelling in. You’d set me on fire with your kisses, you’d burn down my resolve. I’m tired,” George says. “I’m tired of running to catch up to you. I’m tired of picking up what you leave behind, when you go too far and I lose you in the distance.”

Every word that drops from George’s lips is a dagger to his heart, twisting and turning in malice. George continues, a single, shining sword to his throat, threatening to slit it open.

“I need to be on my own.”

The sword digs into the supple skin of his neck. He tries his voice. “I love you, George.”

A look of pain flashes across George’s face. “I love you too, Dream.”

It makes its first cut, drawing warm, miserable blood.

“But I don’t love you enough to stay.”

The sword slices. The throat is cut. Dream lays limp as the world spins around, blood rushing to his ears. He doesn’t hear George’s next words. He doesn’t have to.

When he wakes up the next morning, the luggage is cleared. There’s no more clothing in his drawers dedicated to George. His bedroom is sickly clean, not a hair out of place. There is but one lone piece of paper in the middle of his bed, scribbled in black ink.

_I’m sorry._

Dream sinks to his knees and weeps a broken, boundless cry.

* * *

The ring sits heavy on his bedside dresser, untouched.

Unworn.

A question that lingers in the air, dissipating into vapour.

* * *

He steps up, pulling his weight from one foot to another. The rock had been worn down from years of use, millions of footsteps in the same awestruck wonder that captivated him now.

He hasn’t been back here since he first took George, all those years ago, their love blooming in the hearth of their sternums, breathing glowing embers of admiration. He didn’t even want to go; but impulsive decisions fuelled by drunken stupor led him to California with only a backpack and a water bottle, leaving him to climb Yosemite without his best friend.

His heart aches as he treads the same paths they did years prior, remembering the soft giggles and the glittering hazel of George’s eyes captured by the dying sun.

He’s come just in time for sunset. His hands, outstretched, slid by barks of the pine trees lining the path, feeling the rough texture in his numb fingers. He’s glad to be out of the house for the first time since George left. He had been lying in bed for hours upon hours, a cold emptiness eating away at his stomach.

He told the community he was taking an indefinite break from streaming and videos, and that led to a lot of speculation about why George’s facecam backdrops had suddenly changed, now back in the familiar grey room in his apartment in London. Most put two and two together.

Sapnap tried calling him, at least three times a day for the past month. He only answered once, to say, “Sap, I love you, but please stop calling,” before hanging up again. He began to be acquainted with the emptiness of his huge house, now gone cold without his fire living in it.

He misses George. There's no denying it. He woke up every day hoping that all of it was some sick twisted dream, product of his subconscious and that he would wake up to his love bathed in golden glow. He didn’t. He never did.

Dream reaches the peak of the hiking trail, this time alone. He’s the one who approaches the precipice cautiously this time, watching as the sun fell behind the mountains, streaking orange and pink in its wake. 

He breathes for the first time in his life. His hands pat his front pocket softly, feeling the hard, offensive lump of that velvet box that burned a hole in his bedside dresser. It pained him to look at it every day, to be reminded of what once was and what could have been, a sharp ache in his heart as he reminisced his times with George, soaked in honey and nostalgia.

It weighs down now in his palm, as he holds it out in front of him. He opens the box to reveal that beautiful sapphire ring, clusters of diamonds no match for George’s eyes. He feels the familiar prick of tears that rush behind his eyes as he shuts the box, and closes his eyes.

He clenches a fist around it.

“I love you,” he whispers, and this time he hopes that the wind carries it across the seas, flitting through dancing trees, finding itself in the tinkling of windchimes hung on George’s window.

He pulls his hand back, above his shoulder, and without hesitation, throws the box into the boundless canyon below.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to let me know what you think. comments and criticism are always welcome. <3
> 
> agora
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/agowa_)  
> [tumblr](https://meltiers.tumblr.com)


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